Inconsiderate use of page numbers and other diaricious sins

The collection I am cataloguing at the moment includes a series of diaries, full of spicy secrets and rude comments (I wish).

The page numbering is all over the shop. The first five diaries in the series have a continuous sequence of page numbers running through all five volumes, plus a separate sequence of page numbers for each volume. Which do I use? Documents dating from the same period as the diary entries are bound with the diary. Occasionally the documents are numbered, but not consecutively, and I can't figure out what the numbers mean. Some documents aren't numbered at all. Later diaries either have no page numbers or page numbers that cover only one volume of the diary. Of course, you could give up on page numbers and refer to dates instead, but page numbers are much more convenient.

It's all very confusing. I can't face the thought of adding new page numbers to all the diaries, but I urge anyone who is thinking of keeping a diary which might have any historical value at all to buy one with numbered pages. If your diary does not have numbered pages, please do not write anything historically important in it, or limit your thoughts to one or two volumes. Most people can face numbering one or two volumes - ten is out of hte question.

It is also very important to preserve the binding of your diary. I spent an entire day trying to reorder the pages in Fanny Charlton's diary, and I am not convinced that the content justified the effort. Her descirption of her honeymoon in Europe should have been quite interesting. But it wasn't.

On the whole, I am not in favour of people keeping diaries. They are too hard to catalogue. Write a blog instead. I am very comforted by the thought that the drivel I write on here will vanish into a black hole with so much of the late twentieth/early twenty-first century records.

I have flu, so this is rather a bad-tempered post. I will write something kind and optimistic tomorrow.

Berkshire enclosure award

Here's a link to Berkshire enclosure maps for my interest.

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Opinionated rant

I try to be kind and nice, but sometimes I am opinionated. And this is one of those opinionated posts that I might have to take down later when people realise what a horrible person I am, despite my efforts to appear kind and reasonable. But this blog is called Gremlins Online, so that should give you a clue.

This is a list of words and expressions that annoy me.

1 emote
2 Sexy applied to anything except a person you find attractive. Or maybe clothes. But not records managemnet, a new cleaning product, or a new business idea.
3 "And now, let's join our news teams across the United Kingdom." I dislike this because it means the local news is about to start and local news often starts with news that someone has been murdered. And I have doubts about the use of the word "across" here, although I can't explain why it troubles me.
4 in terms of - about five years ago, a law was passed which required everyone to use this in their conversation at least twenty times a day. Or so it seems. It was one of Nasty Boss's favourite expressions. "In terms of spreadsheets..."
5 starting to list your thoughts, then forgetting to finish. "I don't want a new bathroom: a) it's too expensive and I can't be bothered to go to the DIY shop and choose one." Most people forget about b. So it's better not to start unless you know what you are going to say next.
6 "Let's talk about", "Last time we talked about", used by management about presentations where they talked and staff sat and listened and had ten minutes for questions at the end. We didn't talk. You talked and we listened.
7 "Key drivers". What are they? I went to a psychology course once, which suggested that different personality types are motivated by different drivers: hurry up was one, and be careful was another. Has this expression been borrowed from that? Anyone who hasn't been on a management course doens't know what it means. Does anyone know?
8 Using statistics to measure things that cannot be measured, to sound more impressive. "My presentation will be 50% better next time." How much does your presentation score now? How did you measure it? You can't. So don't. (Apart from ice dancing, which can of course be measured, using a new and exciting scoring system. Such a shame they've stopped scoring Artistic Impression out of 6. I loved it. and if your pants show through your trousers - as Victor Plushenko's did some years ago - you lose .1 of a mark. Be careful. Which brings me on to the moment when Midori Ito fell in the camera pit, a sporting moment I treasure. And she had to get out and carry on. Game lass.)

Doomed to wear tweedy cardigans

As a reward for going to my job interview yesterday, (which went moderately OK although it's impossible to tell), I bought myself a new cardigan from Marks and Spencer. I feel the cold, so I have to wear something with wool content for at least 6 months of the year. I was in a bit of a hurry, so I reverted to type. I am now the proud owner of a grey (dark brown was a bit daring), zip-up, rather elegantly sleeved, and slightly tweedy cardigan, which joins the large family of tweedy cardigans stuffed untidily in my bottom drawer. The new cardigan has peculiar ties on the neck which are meant to tie up in an elegant knot. The knot doesn't look elegant when I tie it. The ties flap around annoyingly. I think Ann, my fashion adviser, would disapprove.

It is very warm though.

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Cafe culture here we come

Here's a link to some Government stuff about responsible drinking. I haven't read it yet.

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24 hour drinking

Since 24 hour drinking is in the news, here is a link to Mr Ashton's wise words about the proper way to drink.

And here, if I'm not very much mistaken and (if I am please tell me and I will be very delighted) is the gist of the Government's advice about sensible drinking.

Women should drink a maximum of 14 units per week. A unit is half a pint of beer, one glass of wine (that's pub measures i.e. small), or one unit of spirits. Drinking more than 2-3 units in a night counts as binge drinking. That's one and a half pints or three small glasses of wine. You should also have several alcohol-free days per week, and you shouldn't save up all your units and drink them all at the weekend.

Men should drink 21 units per week. Ditto above apart from binge drinking - you get 3-4 units per night, you lucky boys. That's two pints.

I know very few people who even try to stick to this. Apart from me, and I don't stick to it very well. An awful lot of people I know drink at least their entire alcohol allowance in a weekend and probably have quite a lot during the week as well. When I hear about the Government's drive to change the binge culture, I think of the goings-on in Hobbiton, the village where I grew up, where excessive drinking is practically a second religion. (Although we have a church which some of the most drunken people have been known to frequent when sober.)

To explain what the Government is up against, here are some conversations I've had with the bar staff of the pub at home.

Scene, the Green Dragon, Christmas Eve. Marv is in the pub.

Marv: May I have a Coke, please.
Barman: Marv, it's Christmas Eve.
Marv: I'd like a Coke.
Barman: Marv, you live within five minutes walk of the pub. Are you mad?
Marv: (attempting to look appealing): I'd really like a Coke.
Barman:(noticing but still impervious): I can't believe you have the gall to come into my pub on Christmas eve and order a soft drink.
Marv: (attempting to appeal to his business sense) You have more mark-up on your soft drinks. You'll make more money. I'd like a Coke.
Barman: Glass of wine, on the house.

Scene, the Green Dragon, late at night.

Marv: I'd like two coffees, please.
Barman: Now, Marv, we don't serve soft drinks at this time of night.
Marv: It's for my friends. They really want some coffee. I dont' want to disappoint them.
Barman: How about a nice Irish coffee? A drop of Baileys?
Marv: Please, please can I have some coffee?
Barman: Help yourself, it's free.


What I'm really trying to say is...(Hello, Jez)
1 The Government will find it extremely hard to change the British drinking culture.
2 The current guidelines regarding drinking are hopelessly unrealistic and most people I know who drink regularly ignore them.
3 There is no way that Britain is going to become a sophisticated continental cafe culture. We need to sit and gibber nonsense at each other in our warm pubs while the rain pours down outside, making our land green and pleasant. Or we need to sit outside in our pub gardens in the summer enjoying the rare moments when the weather is good.
4 Rural pubs police themselves quite well and don't need legislation that's designed to deal with the hideous problems drinking creates in city centres. This is not to say that people in rural areas drink sensibly, because they don't, but their bad drinking habits don't make the place they live in unbearable for the sensible people who don't drink at all or like one glass of wine (pub measures).
5 Staggering closing times is a bad idea.
6 Everyone should drink much, much less. Including me. On that note, I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine and revel in my own hypocrisy and inconsistency.

I have written a huge post and I haven't managed to say whether I think 24 hour opening is a good idea.

Cheers!

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The tails tell you

This warthog has not yet decided what to do.
This warthog has decided what to do.

That's what it sounds like!

Today I had to tell my boss that I have applied for another job. I was nervous about doing this and didn't know how she would react. My boss said that she realises jobs don't always come up at the most convenient time and of course I must apply if I feel enthusiastic about it; could she do anything to help; I don't need to take the day of the interview as leave; she was there to be supportive and to help people do what is right for their careers.

Hearing someone talk in a sensible and sympathetic way is a bit like hearing your native language after a long absence abroad.

The lion roars

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Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

Dream about a duck

Last night I had a dream. Outside my parents' house where I grew up, there is a small tree. I dreamed that I was standing in our driveway looking at the tree which was covered in pieces of white paper instead of leaves. There was a group of people standing underneath the tree which included one of my cousins, Matt, my Dad's friend Tim, and possibly my aunt and uncle. There were lots of birds in the tree, all different species. I was holding a duck in my arms and I was supposed to tag it so it couldn't fly away, but I didn't do it in time, so the duck flew up in the tree and stood there. I looked at its flat orange feet standing on the branch and thought, "How strange that a duck can stand on the branch of a tree."

Trying to explain about gremlins

I am a gremlin, and the person who suffers the most from my gremlinacious nature is ... me, myself, and I.

This is why I think I am a gremlin. It is because I cannot:

read maps well (unless they are historical maps)
remember the way home
remember what I did the day before yesterday without thinking for at least 5 minutes
sense group dynamics
catch the eye of the barman/woman
decide what to do quickly
do anything practical - chemistry practical was an utter nightmare for me.
get round to things
go on holiday without deciding I don't want to the night before
plan things properly
drive anywhere without wondering if this will be my last hour
remember names, titles, or dates of songs
tell my worst enemy to bugger off

but I can:

swim fearlessly
plaster a wall
get over 100 in ten pin bowling
act on a stage
sing on a stage
dance like a fiend
remember song lyrics
make up stuff
remember complicated mythology or history
manage my money with scrooge-like accuracy
paddle a canoe
light a fire
solve logic problems
see the wood for the trees
find anything in the world funny
sleep nearly as well as Little Brother

I wish the things I'm good and bad at weren't so lop-sided and random.

That's me!

They bring to life the feelings of frustration, fear and isolation that adults can face in everyday situations when they are not able to do something which they feel they ought to be able to.

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I love this man (tee hee)

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Originally uploaded by Marvin Marblesons.

Monday evening gibber

Must gibber something to get rid of the whinging post about Nasty Boss.

I was exhausted this morning. I spent the weekend on a folk fiddle course, so I played the violin for about 8 hours on Saturday. Considering I hadn't played for 6 months, I did quite well. But concentrating for 8 hours is more than I can take. Grandmother, who came with me, was fine. But she's probably played every day for the last 80 years. She couldn't remember the tune we learnt in the afternoon, though. It was the wrong time of day.

I am so tired of the diaries I'm working on. How do you catalogue a diary? Do you summarise every entry? Do you pick out the ones that are interesting? If you do, how do you decide what is interesting?

Note to self: a little rant about inconsiderate page numbering will amuse my audience, who, I am told, number at least 32. Chrissy Wissy tells me that 32 computers have looked at his blog from mine. That is too many. Please stop reading, some of you. I don't want audience expectations to cramp my style. And they will.

One of my favourite bits in Peter Pan is the bit where he lists all the stories he could tell - and then chooses one, and leaves the others untold. What a tease.

My new shoes are slightly too small. Does anyone have size 6 feet and want a pair of shoes like kids wear at primary school? I knew I shouldn't buy a brand.

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Adventures in the crazy world of Nasty Boss

This is what it's like to live in the land of the Nasty Boss. It's still messing with my head. I spent over 2 years living in crazy world, but eventually I escaped. After I escaped I went to counselling for a bit to cope with the trauma. The counsellor told me to write down all the situations that upset me and then and burn the pieces of paper. This ritual would help me forget, she said. But I didn't forget. I have an incredibly good memory, which is a disadvantage sometimes.

I felt like I was going mad. I felt that nothing I said made any sense. I felt that I couldn't communicate. I felt that everything I said and did was incredibly offensive and that my personality was wrong and everything good I believed about myself was a delusion. I felt angry, frustrated, and under siege.

Fortunately I had James, Dan, Rence, and Fionnuala. So I didn't crack up completely. But it wasn't very nice, especially for James, who had to live with me being so miserable. It's really hard to explain what happened; I have been trying to find a way to blog about it for ages. Finally, I have found a way to introduce a bit of comedy, which might make this catalogue of trivial miseries slightly more palatable.

How to make someone miserable in 5 seconds
I go to put a file back on the shelf. Quoth nasty boss, without looking at me, continuing to type, "Do you think that shelf needs a bracket on it?"

I think, "Since when have I been your servant?"

I say, "I'll get one."

Logic wins again - or does it?

I make a new document (which, for the sake of clarity, I will call file Y) and put it in the filing system. Nasty boss moves it, accidentally disobeying our rule that every file in the filing system should have the same number in the electronic filing system.

I notice this, but say nothing. Unfortunately I want to create a similar document (file X, which is in reverse alphabetical order, not starting at the last letter of the alphabet either) which should be filed in the same place. But the electronic copy is filed as one number and the paper copy is filed under a different number. Where do I put the file? I ask Nasty Boss, "These two files have different numbers. Has there been some mistake?"

"Umm, yes, maybe," says Nasty Boss, "but it's OK."

I file the electronic copy under one number and the paper copy under another number.

Quoth Nasty Boss, looking rather pleased, "Where is file X?"
"Under the electronic number," I reply.
"And where is the paper copy?" (asking even though he knows already)
"I know they don't match," I say, "but since file Y is filed under this number, I thought file X should follow the same logic."
"Oh," says Nasty Boss, taken aback, "that's a quirk."

How not to motivate your staff and reward success
I attend a meeting of our computer system's user group and give a presentation. At our next meeting I report back on the conference. I say I am pleased because they agreed to make changes to the system after I did my presentation.

Quoth Nasty Boss, "Did you file the notes about the meeting?"

In which there is really no need to be jealous when you sense that other people feel happy. Even when you don't like them.

I am looking forward to a week's holiday in the Lake District. We need to have a meeting before I go away. I ask, "Would it be possible to have the meeting in the early afternoon, in case I want to leave a bit early since I'm on holiday next week?"
Quoth Nasty Boss, "Smug."

The mysterious case of the invisible field

I am writing some publicity explaining how to set up a database. I recommend that our colleagues use the same fields as there are in a database designed by Nasty Boss.

Nasty Boss looks at my list of fields. "Shouldn't there be a field for this?" he asks.

"We haven't got that field on our database," I say, "and I don't think we should tell people to do things unless we're doing them ourselves."

"That field is on the database," says Nasty Boss. "It's hidden."

Later, I look at the database and discover that there is no field.

We don't understnad but we have to pretend that we do

We have a problem with our computer system. I suggest that our computer people should come and sort it out as I dont' think I will be able to solve it. Nasty Boss insists that i try. I spend two fruitless days trying to figure out what is wrong. I can't work it out. I get hopelessly confused and demoralised. Nasty Boss says I should have taken clearer notes and shows me how to write down each step. At one point I go and hide in the toilet to recover my sanity. I wonder if it is possible to injure people by the power of thought.

Nasty Boss looks at the problem. Half an hour later, he waltzes confidently into my office.

"I think it's creating a temporary file. It's a long shot, but I think that might just be it."
"But all the data is in this folder," I say.
"I know that!" he says angrily.

It is impossible to discuss the issue any more without suggesting that he might be wrong.

And even talking about the weather can be nasty

Colleague: Marv, what kind of weather do you like?
Marv: I like it to change. I like it to rain, then be sunny, then rain again.
Nasty Boss: Don't want much, do you?
Marv: That's what it does in England. Which is why I like it.

Talk this way, walk this waaaay
All the other people in the office are trying to decide how to catalogue a document. I come in after everyone else and start working.

Says Nasty Boss, "Anna, what do you think?"
I reply, "Could you explain the problem again, please?"
Says Nasty Boss, "It's not a problem, it's a choice between two ways of working."
He would like me to give up using the word 'problem' and replace it with the word 'challenge'. He thinks it sounds more positive.

Bonkers. Bonkers, bonkers, bonkers

Every month, I count up the number of enquiries I have received over the month and enter them onto a spreadsheet. I divide them up by the subject of the enquiry and record whether I have answered all my enquiries within 5 working days. We end up with a lot of very impressive looking percentages.

There is, however, a problem. That's a problem. The PROBLEM is that I never get very many enquiries, usually 8 or 10 per month. So, although it looks very impressive to say that 50% of my enquiries were about pink spotted dogs, it's less impressive when you realise that 50% equals 4 out of a total of 8.
Furthermore, a phone call from anyone outside our team counts as an enquiry. So if I call someone to ask them something and they ring me back, this is an enquiry.

This is all bonkers. I'm sorry, but it is.

Very sad post.

Elijah Wood v Ian Holm - draw
Sean Astin v Bill Nighy - Nighy
Ian McKellan v Michael Hordern - draw
Viggo Mortensen v Robert Stephens - Mortensen
John Rhys Davies v Douglas ? - ?

Nice song from Tolkien

Gil-galad was an Elven King
Of him the harpers sadly sing
The last whose realm was fair and free
Between the mountains and the sea

The family firm

My cousin designs handbags. Here's a link to her site. Get spending, folks!

My cousin is so clever and stylish

The right level of weirdness

I have just bought a new pair of shoes. This reminds me of Little Brother, who believes very strongly that all shoes should have the right level of weirdness. If these haven't achieved the right level of weirdness, I will eat my hat.

Tune of the week

Tune of the week at Broersma Towers is the Hank Williams classic 'Your Cheatin' Heart'. It has a new chord, A flat 7. I sing it in a high-pitched wailing voice like Dolly Parton and other bluegrass singers.

James is learning it too.

Falling off the wagon

Celebrity Big Brother is tempting me again, and like Bridget Jones faced with a huge bottle of Chardonnay, I will not resist.

Being a gremlin again

I have been giving boring advice to my colleague who is doing a distance learning course in archives and records management. She is doing a records management assignment and I've been reading it and trying to make useful comments, since I had the misfortune to work in records management for 2 years. My personality has just about recovered from the whole hideous experience.

Yesterday, my colleague and I had the following conversation:

Me: Well, records management is rather boring really and most people hate it.
R: Yes, it's not the sexiest thing in the world.
Me: It's not Johnny Depp.

Silence.
Or put another way, "Let us call things by their right names."

Gremlins spoil films

Sometimes it's better to watch films on your own.

Many years ago, my friends from school came round to my house to watch a video. The film was Dead Calm, starring Nicole Kidman and Sam Neill. This is universally acknowledged to be quite a good film, and everyone enjoyed it. I enjoyed it too, but for the wrong reasons. Dead Calm is supposed to be a tense thriller, full of suspense and unexpected twists. But often there is something about the thriller genre that doesn't work for me. Sometimes I find thrillers really, really hilarious. And this was one of those times. Not knowing what's going to happen next can make a film amusing instead of horrific. I don't know whether you ever watch Casualty and try to guess how the characters are going to end up in hospital (probably you have more of a life than I do - my mother and I sometimes amuse ourselves like this), but if you have, you will know what I mean about Dead Calm. A character climbs the stairs...will she trip up... she does! We guessed! Someone gets in his car...will he crash? No...Will the car spontaneously combust? No...he gets out of the car and is run over by a lorry! Ha ha ha!

Don Gato

James was taught this song when he was a little boy growing up in Texas.

O Senor Don Gato was a cat.
On a high red roof Don Gato sat.
He was there to read a letter,
- (meow, meow, meow)
where the reading light was better,
- (meow, meow, meow)
'Twas a love-note for Don Gato!

"I adore you," wrote the ladycat,
who was fluffy white, and nice and fat.
There was not a sweeter kitty,
- (meow, meow, meow)
in the country or the city
- (meow, meow, meow)
and she said she'd wed Don Gato!

O Senor Don Gato jumped with glee!
He fell off the roof and broke his knee,
broke his ribs and all his whiskers,
- (meow, meow, meow)
and his little solar plexus
(meow, meow, meow)
"Ay Caramba!!" cried Don Gato.

All the doctors they came on the run,
just to see if something could be done.
And they held a consultation,
- (meow, meow, meow)
about how to save their patient,
- (meow, meow, meow)
how to save Senor Don Gato.

But in spite of everything they tried,
poor Senor Don Gato up and died.
No, it wasn't very merry,
- (meow, meow, meow)
going to the cemetary,
- (meow, meow, meow)
for the ending of Don Gato.

But as the the funeral passed the market square,
such a smell of fish was in the air,
though the burial was plated,
- (meow, meow, meow)
he became reanimated,
- (meow, meow, meow)
he came back to life, Don Gato!

Exposed on the cliffs of the heart

I picked up my selected Rilke the other day. Here is a favourite.

exposed on the cliffs of the heartk

Blog preservation

Here is an article about archiving blogs. I hope mine will vanish. Since preservation relies on the technical skills of the blogger, my wish will come true.

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Christmas comes again

There is a new post on Pint and a Gibber.

no one travels like Dan and Rence

Calling all Francis fans

I've put a load of photos on Jerome's blog, stolen from the great Rufus Trotman. Thanks Rufus!

I applied for the job

The form is filled in.

Thursday is the closing date.

I didn't tell any lies on the application form, and I probably didn't make the truth sound impressive enough either.

I hate applying for jobs. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

When I was ten at primary school we had to draw a picture of ourselves and write an essay with the title 'Me'. I wrote something like this

My name is Noly Monoly. (it was at the time - perhaps this will help you understand why I am quite content with Marv) I am ten years old. I have brown eyes and brown hair.

Then I pretended to be ill so I didn't have to write any more.

I tried to explain why this is, but I can't really. I guard my privacy very carefully.

Freak out!

We had a great New Year party. We got the dressing up box out. So this little number got another airing.



Clare and Lucy also have a beautiful navy blue dress with white spots. It's the classic Laura Ashley 80s shape. That's drop-waisted gathered skirt, puffed sleeves, sailor collar. I had one in the 80s. My mum had many. Lovely.

I put this on and we played lots of music and I freaked out, helped by David in his tutu and other dresses. It was so perfect for rock and roll moves. I wish Rence had been there to help. Shoogy for me, Shoogy for me.

I felt my soul breaking free. But I hope no-one took any pictures.

Fruit is unsatisfactory because:

Sometimes it isn't ripe.

When you peel fruit the juice goes all over your hands.

It goes rotten.

You can drink fruit juice instead.

apples aren't very nice
...

and in fact tropical fruit isn't worth the trouble

James, defend yourself

update: James says that he isn't in the habit of buying fruit and he doesn't miss it, but he would like to get into the habit.

What did you do at the weekend, Marv?

If you ask me this question, and a blank look crosses my face, it's not because I think it's a boring or stupid question. It's because I can never remember what I did two days ago. My mind goes blank. The pressure is too much.

I can remember things that happened when I was five. I can remember some of the words of the theme tunes to the Banana Splits, Battle of the Planets, and Hong Kong Phooey.

Annual pop quiz humiliation isn't quite as bad as usual

I am sitting on the sofa at Clare's house, having drunk a glass of a half of champagne, listening to a load of tunes I know vaguely, but not well enough to name artist, title, or decade. Sometimes i can sing the words.

We have just had the token "song I will know". It's a Bob Dylan song. I can sing the words and I have just remembered the title!! I knew a question!! this is the first time in about ten years of pop quizzes!

The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll. I always liked that song.